


For Ruto

by Emsiecat



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Baking, Domestic Fluff, Dwarves in the Shire, Fluff, Frodo and Sam wonder about the oddities of growing old, Growing Old Together, M/M, The Shire, Uncle Bilbo Baggins, Uncle Thorin, grey hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-24 00:24:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8349004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emsiecat/pseuds/Emsiecat
Summary: For the ever so lovely Ruto whose birthday it is on the 23rd October!You like Parentshield fluff? You GET Parentshield fluff, my friend!Enjoy! And thank you as always for your gorgeous artistic contributions to the fandom.(The baking scene was loosely inspired by the lovely artwork by Topaz Myst which can be found here: http://topazmyst.tumblr.com/post/151068115520/just-a-bit-of-fluffy-domestic-bagginshield )





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rutobuka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rutobuka/gifts).



"'S odd don't you think?" Little Sam asked apropos of nothing with his round chin in his hands and elbows on his knees. 

"What's odd, Sam?" 

"The grownups. How their hair changes as they get older, goes all grey n' silver n' white." 

Frodo frowned to himself contemplatively as he set aside his book and glanced down at Sam from his vantage point on the bench outside Uncle Bilbo's home. 

The pair were sat outside this fine, crisp, Blotmath morning; Frodo on his uncle's favourite bench and Sam seated on the grass nearby, his acorn collection all but forgotten as he had taken to watching folk pass by Bag End instead. 

Following his friend's gaze, Frodo noted old Mister Proudfoot hobbling along the lane below, hair as white as cotton fluff and wrinkled, age spotted hand raised in greeting to Missus Boffins coming up the way. 

It must have been this sight that had prompted Sam's question. 

"Oh, that. I asked Uncle Thorin about that before." Frodo stated with all the lofty confidence of a faunt who had recently been told some new and interesting little fact.

Sam's eyes grew round and curious as he turned from his study of the hobbits going about their daily lives in favour of learning something new from his best friend. "Did Mister Thorin know why it happens?"

If anyone were to know it would be Mister Thorin, Sam thought with certainty. He was a dwarf who had travelled the _whole world_ , and he was so _old_ too. He simply _had_ to know! 

Happy with his attentive audience, Frodo quickly explained to Sam what Thorin had told him. 

"Uncle Thorin told me it happens 'cause when dwarves are forged by Mahal, he borrows the colour of their hair from precious metals and gems. In time though, the metal n' gems need their colour back so they can be crafted into new things, so Mahal returns it to them bit by bit." 

Sam, at first impressed and smiling at the explanation, soon realised something slightly amiss in the dwarf's reasoning and frowned, tugging at his lower lip in thought. 

"Oh, but… we're not dwarves. How come it happens to us too then?" 

"I wondered that too." Frodo shrugged and toyed with a leaf Sam had given him, admiring the changing colours, as if a sunset was trapped within the foliage. "When I asked Uncle Bilbo he said it isn't the same for hobbits. He said that we are like the leaves on the trees and as we get old, we change our colours like they do, 'cept we go white instead of red and brown and gold. Kind of like snow coming in wintertime." 

"That makes sense." Sam nodded emphatically at that. For if Mister Thorin could not answer a question, then Mister Bilbo always could. 

Frodo giggled then, remembering how the rest of the conversation had continued, and repeated it to Sam, eyes creased in mirth. 

"Uncle Bilbo wondered if I'd only asked because I'd noticed his hair changing and thought he looked old. When Uncle Thorin heard he picked Uncle Bilbo up, twirled him 'round, and said he looked lovely, and that since I had asked Uncle Thorin first, it was clear I was only asking because I had noticed more grey in _his_ hair. 

"Uncle Bilbo said he was being silly and if he hurt his back through picking him up like that, Thorin would definitely be the one responsible for more white in his hair 'cause of worry." 

Sam chuckled along with Frodo and nodded again. "Aye, me Auntie said that can happen. If you get worried enough that changes your hair as well, odd." 

"Don't know why folk get so upset about it though," Frodo said at length. "Uncle Thorin was right, it does look lovely."

"It does," Sam agreed stoutly, and added. "I think yours will look lovely when it starts to change too. You've got hair like your Uncle Thorin's and his looks like the night sky, all silver and black like that." 

Frodo gave his friend a gap-toothed smile and flushed with the praise, offering the younger hobbit another acorn he had spotted. "Thank you, Sam." 

"You're welcome- oh!" Sam tilted his head then pouted as only a child could do as he picked out the sound of his mother's voice calling for him. "I promised Ma I'd help with her chores today, I have t' go." 

Sam pushed himself to his feet, scooping up his pile of acorns and depositing them in the upturned sun hat that he had brought with him for this very purpose. He planned on planting a couple and using the rest to make a garland. 

Holding the hat to his chest like an absurd basket, Sam canted his head thoughtfully at Frodo. "Did you want to come to mine for luncheon? Mister Thorin and Mister Bilbo aren't back yet." 

That was true enough. Frodo's uncles had popped out to the market two hours ago to get some ingredients for the sweet rolls they were going to make together, leaving Frodo and Sam playing with a group of other fauntlings who had since returned home. His uncles should be back shortly though and he told Sam as much, but it was kind of him to offer all the same.

Giving Sam a brief hug of gratitude, Frodo grinned and led him down the steps of Bilbo's garden. 

"I'll be sure to bring you some of the sweet rolls tomorrow." Frodo promised as he held the gate open for Sam, and then clambered up to sit atop it, waving his friend off down the lane. 

"An' I'll bring the acorn string back when I'm done making it!" Sam shouted back, quickening his pace as his mother called for him again.

 

* * *

 

Frodo had not had to wait long after Sam's departure for his uncles' to return and had been amused to hear their good-natured bickering over the best way to return to Bag End. This seemed to be the reason for their unexpectedly late return; for Thorin still swore after all these years that it was far better to take the right fork in the road when one approached the Party Tree and continue 'round until one came to Hill Lane, snaking through the smials until arriving at Bag End. Bilbo, on the other hand, insisted the fastest route was to take the left fork at the Party Tree and simply follow the road up to Bagshot Row and Bag End itself. 

"I shall time you the next you decide to wander down to market shall I, dearest?" Bilbo had finished with a quirked brow and a barely hidden grin. 

Thorin, though seeing wisdom in his words, had staunchly refused to admit he was wrong on this; because when all was said and done, wasn't Hill Lane the far more scenic route?

Giggling, Frodo had dutifully opened the gate for his uncles and relieved them of one package each as they greeted and thanked him by turn. 

Now, within the heady warmth of the kitchen as they worked on the dough for their sweet rolls, Frodo found himself basking in the contented atmosphere that always seemed to surround their home. 

Frodo watched his uncles as he played with the dough more than he kneaded it, equal parts enthralled and appalled by the sticky mass he was toying with and becoming caught between his fingers. Bilbo would probably laugh and scold if he was paying more attention, but at present, he was chattering amiably to Thorin, who was quick to distract Bilbo with a kiss to his cheek whilst slyly filching a handful of chopped nuts for himself. 

Frodo choked back a giggle and pretended not to notice the theft Uncle Thorin had just committed. He instead found his gaze drawn to their happy faces, and by extension their hair. 

Eyes ghosting over merry eyes and laughter lines, Frodo admired how both his uncles' hair shone in the afternoon light. The silver the older grownups acquired was very pretty and Sam was right; on Thorin, it reminded Frodo of the night sky, full of stars and cloud and moonlight. On Bilbo, the colour reminded Frodo of pale winter sunlight, and the trinkets Uncle Thorin would create from metal in his forge. 

Frodo huffed, suddenly feeling a little left out. Why were the grownups allowed such fun colours in their hair while he was just stuck with hair that was pitch dark? It would take years and _years_ for his hair to look like his uncles! 

Inspiration struck when he noticed Bilbo flicking some flour at Thorin; apparently, he had finally realised the chopped nuts had gone missing and was exacting revenge. 

Some of the flour was caught in Thorin's hair as he turned his head in an attempt to dodge being covered in the stuff, and Frodo grinned when he saw how it made his uncle's hair whiter than before.

"I saw him steal some of the raisins too," Frodo piped up with a large smile. Not quite truthfully, of course, though he was sure Uncle Thorin probably _had_ done so at some point. Still, he needed a distraction so that he in turn may steal the flour. 

Thorin looked utterly aghast at his hobbit nephew for such a betrayal, and Frodo made a mental note to apologise later. 

His plan worked of course, with a shout that was more laughter than pique, Bilbo scooped up some more flour and chased his husband around the table and out of the kitchen. "That is _it_ , you miserable sneak-thief! There'll not be enough sweet rolls to send some to Sam if you keep stealing ingredients!"

"I'm not the one throwing flour at people!" Thorin yelped and Frodo could hear him running down one of the hallways. 

Laughing quietly to himself, Frodo scrambled down from the chair he was using to reach the table and scurried round to reach up and grab the bowl of flour. 

His impatience was his undoing. Instead of taking the time to climb up onto another chair so he could reach his prize properly, Frodo simply pushed himself up onto his toes and stretched, fingers grazing the bowl as he dragged it closer. He'd only need a scoopful to make his hair white in places like his uncles and- 

Oh-

Up tipped the bowl as Frodo lost his balance, and down came the whole bowlful of flour right on poor Frodo's head. 

It was at that moment that Bilbo and Thorin returned to the kitchen still puffing and laughing after their impromptu chase through the smial to see their nephew utterly smothered in flour, coughing and spluttering and trying to blink the fine powder from his eyelashes. 

"Frodo- what in the world-?" 

Bilbo could hardly manage to form a coherent sentence such was the force of his laughter, and Thorin fared no better, near wheezing with ill-suppressed amusement. 

"I-I just wanted the flour," Frodo tried to explain plaintively, feeling a little cross at being laughed at, but more upset than anything. "I'm so sorry, Uncle. We won't have enough ingredients for Sam's rolls now." 

Noticing how his nephew's lip wobbled even under the coating of flour, Bilbo was quick to crouch down and reassure him, a grin still tilting his lips. "I have some more flour in the pantry, love, don't you worry. Why did you need the flour so urgently that you could not wait for us though?"

Frodo shuffled flour dusted feet, seemingly embarrassed as he ducked his head and murmured too low to be heard at first. It was only when a lightly chuckling Thorin ruffled his messy hair and encouraged him to speak up that Frodo spoke again loud enough for them to hear. 

"I wanted my hair to look like yours, with all the white and silver. I thought I could put a bit of flour in it so we could match. I knew I should not waste the flour though, so waited until you were gone." 

"That explains why you told Bilbo you'd seen me stealing raisins then, very sneaky of you, _inùdoy_."

"You _hadn't_ stolen them?"

"I did try to say as much, you were too busy flicking flour at me to listen." Thorin rolled his eyes with a smile. 

"I-I knew you would probably chase him- 'm sorry." Frodo's voice was little more than a shamed whisper as he rubbed a sleeve against his nose. 

"Oh enough of that, you daft lad. There's no harm done," Bilbo snickered and tilted Frodo's chin up with a finger to get a good look at his flour-covered face. "I'm afraid you didn't quite succeed in looking like your Uncle Thorin or myself though." 

Thorin crouched beside them as well, knees popping a little as he did and gave one of Frodo's now white curls an affectionate tug. "Bilbo is quite right. You look more like a little ghost or a snow-hobbit than us." 

Frodo giggled despite his disappointment. 

"You know, I'm not entirely sure why you wanted to change your hair colour in the first place." Thorin tilted his head curiously at the young hobbit as Bilbo straightened and went to fetch a brush to remove the worst of the flour from Frodo's hair and clothes.

"Yours and Uncle Bilbo's hair is so nice, but I knew it would take _years_ for me to look like you and I wanted to see it," Frodo explained.

"Well I think your hair is fine as it is now." 

"It is?" 

"Indeed, it reminds me of Roäc and his kin, it's a similar colour to their feathers you know." 

"Truly?" 

Gone was the disappointment of before in light of this revelation. Frodo had met Thorin's raven friends from Erebor on numerous occasions since moving in with his uncles and he simply _adored_ the talkative and oft ill-behaved birds that came to visit. 

Thorin nodded and was suddenly rewarded for the compliment with an armful of joyful hobbit, the young lad burbling his thanks as he clung to his uncle's shoulders. 

"Oh, for pity's sake. Can't I leave you two alone for even a moment?" Bilbo was back with brush in hand and an exasperated look on his face. 

In hugging Thorin, Frodo had transferred quite a bit of the flour on himself to both his dwarven uncle and the floor. 

An apology was ready on Frodo's lips, but Thorin was unrepentant, grinning widely as he reached out and snagged an unsuspecting Bilbo by the arm and dragging him down in to their cuddle pile. The elder hobbit let out a shout of surprise but did not admonish any further, simply scowling at his husband as his clothes were coated in flour as well. 

"There, Frodo. Now we all match." 

Bilbo found he could not stay irritated for long when Thorin's words brought such brightness to Frodo's face, and really the mess was of little issue in face of his nephew's and his husband's joy. He would of course have to find out _why_ matching was so important to Frodo later, but for now this was fine.


End file.
